The time I did stop

About a month ago, I started carrying shoes in the car. I bought a bunch of the plastic white sandals common in West Africa and keep them in my car- in case. This is the kind of healing I can do. I drive with my eyes on the talibe feet. I can happily say that a good many of them of have shoes. Were I still in Kinshasa, my shoe bag would have emptied within the hour. 

The first boy I passed here in Bamako was sleeping in a driveway. I was a little shy about giving the shoes and the whole scene turned rather comical. I drove by, turned around, and finally stopped the car just down the street from him. I wished I'd had some food to offer. The ability to sleep on concrete so near to a busy roadway is something I will never understand. Why not find a piece of cool shade under a tree? Or a private place removed from danger? Or maybe that's where danger lies? In the private, hidden places.

I can only think of the exhaustion that must be present for this kind of public sleeping and food seemed a much better offer than shoes. As he lifted his head, I saw why his feet were bare. Of course you cannot sleep with your shoes on, not if you want to keep them. I drove away then, thinking it would be better to stock up on bread or fruit or cookies even. 

I didn't stop for the next two barefooted boys I saw. Either traffic made it inconvenient or something inside held me back. It's not easy to give. It needs to be sincere, and genuine and done in a matter of fact this-is-happening-because-we're-humans way. A space needs to be created.

The fourth boy I saw was walking with friends. They turned down the same road I intended to turn down. There were four or five of them altogether and I hesitated- again, no food to give. What did I have for the others? Only one had bare feet. Was this going to create a problem?

The bag of shoes had been mocking me, all these weeks in my car. I pulled over next to the boys. They walked up and I opened the door. "Where are your shoes?" I asked. None of them really appeared to understand me, but the oldest one came closer, peered into the car and figured it out. I gave over one shoe and indicated the boy should try it on. When it seemed likely to fit, I passed the other one along.

The boys walked off together. One of them waved and smiled at me as I drove away. He seemed genuinely happy that his friend had new shoes. I was really glad there wasn't a fight or a request for something more. I guess I should really get some food. It's always back to basics. 

"When your stomach is hungry, your feet don't feel the rocks." I am sure that could easily be a proverb from somewhere. There are no solutions, no quick fixes. I am still trying to figure out the who and how behind community emergency systems.  

I didn't save a life, but at least this time I did stop.

Who we become

A few nights ago I dreamed of love. We were singing together and this man had a soul touching voice. It was a sure love, a new love and so comfortable. I didn’t want to leave that dream. The real world is a lonely place. I can’t seem to find my way here. And when I am driving through the city, looking at the thousands of people I don’t know, realizing in cities and towns across the world there are hundreds of millions of people- so many of us, how is it possible for any one of us to be so alone?

It is often that my perspective zooms out to such a scale that I see only humans, and we are horrible to each other. It is as if we are not of the same species. We do not see how we are related. We do not care for each other or tend to our sick or frail. We are a sorry lot, us humans, lost in searching and fighting for things that are inconsequential. We can’t even see it.

Yesterday I passed another person on the street- I am not sure who he was- a forgotten? A throwaway? I can’t even be certain of the situation. As I drove past I saw a man on a motorcycle looking down at him and shaking his head and then driving away. I don’t know if the motorcycle had hit him, or narrowly missed or just stopped to see if help could be offered. It wasn’t clear in those few quick seconds. 

I saw a woman walking by. She looked, kept walking and looked back again. She had a baby on her back and a large bowl of bananas on her head. She was carrying a small table or crate in her hand. None of us seemed to know what to do. Myself- I drove by. I looked, I wondered, I panicked in a way. Yes, it was panic because I did not stop. A steady hand would have stopped and offered help. The street was oddly empty. Usually there are a bunch of sellers on this stretch of road. It is one of the very few places where the street sellers persist. But in this moment, I drove to the corner, made the turn and there was nothing. No one.

I hate that I do this. Drive by. The man had been lying on his stomach, his head oddly facing the ground. He appeared to be having a seizure, his body convulsing in some way. His legs were jerking and his torso rose off the ground. Everything about the movements were unnatural and wrong. He was alone. I did not stop. What would I have done?

My most recent medical training was in CPR- what to do if someone is not breathing- not how to handle convulsions. I am still never really clear on what to do with trauma. It’s not my strong point. I am very, very squeamish and afraid to see blood or bone and organs exposed. I think I am most afraid of being out of control. I cannot fix those things.

In Africa, the situation becomes even more complex because there is no 911. And even if they do purport to have an emergency number (112 or something similar) it will take a long time for anyone to show up. Further complications include being foreign, being white and not knowing exactly what happened. These all sound like excuses, and they are. They are the reasons that prevent me from stopping. Being foreign means that I have a greater chance of somehow becoming implicated or blamed for the incident. Being white suggests I will pay for everything and not knowing exactly what happened means I can’t offer a defense.

They are all good and valid excuses, but none of them make me feel better about myself. It’s not the person I want to be- the person that sees a need and just keeps driving.  I am coming to realize that medical issues are not my area of strength. I am really not equipped to offer much in the case of broken and bleeding bodies. It’s hard to accept this. Sometimes I feel like the only worthwhile thing is to be a medical healer. We do it to each other, this breaking of bodies. War and fighting and anger. We ruin lives, we starve each other, we create situations of horror that don't have to exist. In these times, the immediate need is physical. Nothing else matters when you're a life on the edge. 

But there are other types of healing. And some of these other areas are where I feel more capable. As a healer, however, it is shocking to drive by someone in need and feel unable to assist. It is an overwhelming sense of dread and powerlessness that cuts down to the core and plants a little seed. It stays there long into the night and the day and resurfaces every so often to remind you of who you were in that moment. And who you really are. Not a healer after all, but just someone who drove by.

I passed the area again later in the day and he was gone. Someone had stepped in. Either to offer help or to clear the body. I can feel positive about that- not like the child in the road, whose body remained despite a busy street and plenty of onlookers.

It is situations like these that make me wonder if maybe I am not cut out for African living anymore. Maybe I am full up. When you are constantly facing hardships and battling inequality- facing simple problems that suddenly become insurmountable, it’s not easy to like who you become.